


Love is a Ghost

by Aurea_Aetas



Category: Die Ärzte
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Breakups, Depp Jones Era, Drabble, Extended Metaphors, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Past Farin/Bela, Rough Sex, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurea_Aetas/pseuds/Aurea_Aetas
Summary: It wasn’t that Farin was a wound still too sensitive to touch. No, Bela was simply too busy with Depp Jones to waste time on something that no longer existed.
Relationships: Bela B/Farin Urlaub, Bela B/Rod González
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Love is a Ghost

Bela didn’t even think about Farin anymore.

He didn’t think about his smile, or the firmness of his embrace. He didn’t think about the hundreds of times they had fallen into bed together—or into a closet, or a back alley, or in one notable instance, Sahnie’s bathroom. He _definitely_ didn’t think about how Farin had told him he loved him so confidently not so long ago, without hesitation. How he had looked so relieved every time Bela returned the sentiment.

He didn’t think about their last meeting: The tearful—at least on his part—goodbye the day after the final concert. Farin had hugged him, but there wasn’t the affection behind it that there had once been. It was cold, clearly only done out of politeness. He wished him _“Good luck, Dirk,”_ as he pulled away from the embrace and Bela could tell he was completely genuine, the kind bastard. The chilling dismissal of his name overruled any well wishes he might have had, though—stripping Bela of his title, of their past together. He had experienced plenty of breakups before, but never on this scale. Never ones that changed his entire life. They communicated mostly through impersonal letters and phone calls after that, wrapping up their business with Die Ärzte with as little fuss as possible so they _(he, Farin)_ could move on.

He hadn't heard from him in nearly a year since everything was finalized, and he was _fine_.

It wasn’t that Farin was a wound still too sensitive to touch. No, Bela was simply too busy with Depp Jones to waste time on something that no longer existed.

Part of him genuinely wondered: Did he work so hard because he wanted the band to succeed? Or was it just that he wanted it to be more popular than Farin’s new project? To prove to the world that he didn't _need_ him? Regardless of his motivation, it was his band to take care of, all his, even when the others urged him to take a break. He couldn’t take a break. There was too much to do, so he just took another hit of whatever he could find to wake him up—whether it was caffeine or something harder—and carried on. Writing more songs, scheduling more interviews, even as they struggled to gain attendance at concerts.

Only Rod was truly able to pull him away from his work. As close as he was to the others, he was closer still to the quiet Chilean that served as the band’s guitarist. Beyond their connection to the KISS Army, Rod was simply an easy person to talk to. Though, admittedly, they didn’t do much talking these days. 

At times, he worried he was taking advantage of Rod when they did this. He was technically his boss, after all, and several years his senior on top of that. With his long hair, his big eyes, and his too-long eyelashes, the 22 year old looked positively cherubic—too good for someone like Bela to corrupt. That thought never lasted long, though. Despite being the former mister “ _blueprint of my lover_ ,” pop heartthrob, Rod was anything but innocent. He took him so eagerly, so completely, that there was no question about his willingness. 

His cock was _huge_ , bigger than anyone Bela had ever been with before. He could do much more damage if he was a less careful man, but it always seemed like he delighted in the preparation. On that particular night, he had fingered Bela until he was squirming and pleading, his body a boneless mess. Rod had let out an almost boyish giggle at his desperation before he finally relented, pushing all the way into him with one firm thrust.

The half of Bela’s scalp that wasn’t shaved ached from how long Rod had been pulling his hair, using it to keep his body taut as he thrust into him from behind. His other hand gripped Bela’s hip so tightly he was sure it would bruise. He _hoped_ it would bruise. As much as he could, he pushed back against Rod’s thrusts to draw him deeper inside, crying out with a voice that had long since gone hoarse.

Farin had never been so rough with him. In fact, more often than not he was the one asking to be pushed around. _Bitte, Bitte_ had never been far from the truth in that respect. Bela had been more than happy to oblige him every time. The sex was good, of course, but nothing compared to the raw animalism of actually being used. Rod understood that, and did all he could to break Bela down.

The moment Rod reached beneath them to jerk him off in time with his thrusts, that was it. The world ceased to exist when Bela came, his mind utterly blank as his pleasure peaked.

Bela became aware of the world around him again slowly, in pieces: the feeling of his face pressed into the sheets, the sound of Rod’s soft whimpers from behind him as he got himself off, the sudden splash of hot cum against his sweat-clammy skin. If he’d been able to talk he would have told him not to pull out, to cum inside of him, but instead all he could do was gasp for lungfuls of air.

Rod was always so kind afterwards, like a switch had been flipped. He was back to his regular self, gentle and caring as if he hadn't just fucked his friend nearly to the point of unconsciousness. Bela sighed as he felt the soft kisses pressed into the back of his neck, Rod muttering low praise that his lust-fried brain couldn’t yet decipher.

He allowed the pampering long enough to start feeling his limbs again, but then he rolled over.

They lay tangled in Rod’s paper-thin bedsheets, smoking side by side. They never shared, though Rod always offered—ever the considerate one—and Bela always turned him down. That would have been too cliche for him.

Somehow they managed to avoid touching on the small, worn out mattress on the floor, though Bela had an ankle slung over Rod’s in an attempt at intimacy. Polite, but distant. Trying, but never fully letting him in. _“Have you ever tried peeling yourself off another person after everything dries? No thanks,”_ had been Bela’s excuse their first time together. He could tell from the look in Rod’s deep, perceptive eyes that he didn’t believe it for a second, but he didn’t push it either. Not even then, months later when any of the insecurities of a new partner should have disappeared. 

Usually Bela loved nothing more than laying atop another heaving body, feeling each other’s heartbeats calming down in tandem, but he knew it wouldn’t be the same. Rod’s chest was hairy where Farin’s was smooth, his whole body muscular and filled out where Farin was skin and bones. He liked Rod’s body—really, why would he have kept sleeping with him this long if he didn’t?—but the difference was too much to stand. So, he made an island of himself instead.

Bela watched as two trails of smoke slowly drifted upwards. They began separate, but eventually joined and became indistinguishable from each other the higher they rose. The singular cloud survived for only the briefest moment before dissipating into the still air of the bedroom. He supposed he and Farin were like that smoke: inseparable for those short few years, only for them to fall apart at their peak. But maybe it was a dumb comparison. Farin didn’t smoke. He was never a cloud of nicotine and ash. He was the air that Bela’s smoke contaminated, and now that he was free he could breathe. Only Bela was left behind, fading like the flame in his abandoned cigarette’s filter, still held carelessly between two fingers.

The sudden chill of a glass ashtray being set on his chest pulled him out of his thoughts with a start. He blinked, letting his mind catch up to his body before dropping the butt into the tray. It was full from the day’s use, but that didn’t stop the tell-tale flick from beside him, Rod lighting up again.

“You got ash all over my bed,” the Chilean remarked, but there was no real malice behind it. There was a faint smile wrapped around his cigarette, fond.

“I can make it up to you,” Bela replied with a smirk, his voice sounding far away even to himself. He allowed his legs to fall open naturally, wiggling his eyebrows at his bedmate in a halfhearted attempt at seduction, “I’ll do _anything_.”

Rod chuckled. “Anything?” He asked, to which Bela nodded quickly. 

He took a long drag of his cigarette, eyes trailing along Bela’s body as he exhaled slowly. Contemplating his options as smoke swirled around them. Bela didn’t feel adored, like he used to with Farin, but he felt _seen._ Like Rod understood him, even when he tried so hard not to understand himself. It made him feel exposed beyond his naked body, deeper than his bones.

Without another word, Rod stubbed out his cigarette in the ash tray that still sat on Bela’s chest, pushing it down perhaps harder than was necessary to dig the cool glass into his skin. One last show of dominance. Picking the ash tray back up, Bela assumed he would put it back where it had once been: on top of the upturned milk crate that served as Rod’s nightstand. Instead, he leaned over Bela to place it on _his_ side.

He could openly admire Rod from that position, propped up on an elbow and looming over him: the angles of his jaw peppered with stubble, the shape of his mouth, indented from the scar on his lower lip. He had kissed that scar many times, mostly while drunk, and it still remained a mystery to him. Surely one more kiss and he would solve it. At least, that was what he told himself when he cupped Rod’s face and pulled him downwards.

Still hoping he was in the mood for a second round, Bela poured as much sensuality as he could into the kiss. He knew what the guitarist liked, and he felt more than a little triumphant as Rod pulled away with a smile. Instead of ramping it up, though, Rod only slid down his body enough to cuddle into him, resting his cheek on his shoulder. He had broken down the one remaining wall between them. Bela had fallen right into his trap, and escape was unlikely, not with Rod’s significantly taller, firmer form draped on top of him.

“Rod?” He asked, his voice strained. The spikes of his mullet—still wild even without the aid of product—tickled Bela’s nose and added to his discomfort, but when Rod threw a muscular leg over him, he knew he wasn’t going anywhere. 

“I know you miss him,” Rod explained, his voice soft as he traced nonsense shapes into Bela’s skin. Sometimes he followed the path of tattoos, tracing along Bela’s arm and back again, but otherwise he created his own invisible designs on untattooed flesh. “I’m here, though.”

Bela didn’t know how to respond, only that he knew Rod was right. Farin hadn’t done anything for him since the split, and yet he had wasted so much energy on him while running from what was right in front of him.

The longer they lay together, the more at ease Bela became. The weight on top of him became more of a comfort than a restriction, and even the hair in his face became more manageable as he focused on the softness of it, and the earthy smell of Rod’s shampoo. He found himself wrapping his arms around the younger man, who made a small sound of contentment in the back of his throat.

Rod couldn’t replace what he had lost, nor would he want him to. He had idolized Farin, to the point of obsession in his loss. As much as Rod liked to play at the idea of being worshiped, ultimately it was just a game. He couldn't actually put him through that. But to cherish Rod as he deserved? As a friend? That, he could do.

He fell asleep, and for once he truly didn’t dream of Farin.


End file.
